


As He Was Lying Under The Hydraulic Press

by nauseouma



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Freeform, Gen, Gore, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 19:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21282101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nauseouma/pseuds/nauseouma
Summary: How did Kokichi feel when lying under the hydraulic press? What did he think about? Was he scared? Was he satisfied? Probably not.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	As He Was Lying Under The Hydraulic Press

Since Harukawa Maki had bust into the hangar, hardly fifteen minutes passed. Perhaps even less. There were no clocks and the poison made it hard to estimate how fast time went by. For Kokichi time was racing utterly swift. The wounds itched and made his back and arms feel clammy. It was a strange feeling to disconnect from the smoothness of being in harmony with his body. The natural feeling of not separating mind and body into two different emotional states and mental conditions. Oh, how he pined for that feeling to return. Everything felt so wobbly and stingy. It was sucking him further down into a burning abyss, his insides were inflamed. He wanted to tear the scratchy skin apart.

But everything was overshadowed by the dizziness of the poison. The nausea had already set in moments after the poison eroded his body at first contact. Concentration points of the icky numbness included the areas around the arrow wounds and the brain. Seeing clearly was hard, thinking clearly was harder. Every conversation with Momota was exhausting to follow and troublesome to keep up with. He could only explain the basic things of all of the aspects surrounding his plan. He had to think fast; flexibly make his plan work out anyways, despite the interruption. He couldn't tell how off he was portraying his original motive, his thoughts were scrambled, hazily dissolving.

Not that he could really care right now. Because _Momota's time_ was as limited as his. Momota had been coughing up blood even before Harukawa meddled. Something was wrong with him, but neither did Kokichi clearly know nor did he have the time or energy to ask. At this point, he'd have to put his hopes into Momota's survival until the rest of their class would leave this rotten place with him and get him medical aid. Providing the plan would succeed.

While explaining Momota what he had to do, giving him the script and preparing for the act, Kokichi's mind had gone heavier. It was getting hard to breathe, and despite him trying much more than he usually had to to keep up his nonchalant mask, Momota noticed. Shallow breaths dominated the silences between his sentences, his eyes were skittishly darting around and voice flickering with various degrees of tensity and volume. Obviously, the astronaut wasn't all that stupid. He might have been more comfortable thinking in an emotional and naive manner but it'd be soon Kokichi's end and there was no way Momota could convince himself otherwise.

Kokichi's hands started trembling lightly at the time he was finished with filming Momota lying on the press. It was his turn now. And he had to be quick. Otherwise the poison would kill him. Well, not that Monokuma would be able to know.

_Hopefully._

The room was incredibly silent. Momota hadn't said anything since the start of the preparations. The more silent the room got, the louder his brain pounded. The pain was awfully blunt. Few tears were spilt on his way to the press. Yet they didn't escape out of sadness, his lacrimal glands have been heavily affected by the pressure of the poison mashing his brain tortuously. Or if he didn't want to rationalise everything, it may have just been a psychological reaction. _Despite nothing to be sad about._ Walking didn't feel right. He was losing balance. Gravity didn't seem to work properly; his steps were slow, sluggish and uncertain. Suddenly, walking didn't come naturally, he was straddling. The automated process became a task demanding high concentration.

He couldn't hear Momota's encouraging words through the thumping of his heart, which was reacting to the poison in a new-found excruciating torment. Nevertheless, the laugh and friendly expression he showed Momota when turning back to calm down the astronaut was surprisingly devoid of weakness. Realising he had enough energy for his last convincing goodbye, he also sped up finishing his walk to the apparatus. Hopefully Momota bought that smile. It must be said that faking was the only thing Kokichi could perfectly execute after all this practice. So obviously he expected credibility from every single expression. His whole life he has been an actor, it should come naturally as of now. He couldn't hear it himself over the loud vibration inside his head, but gathering the final ounce of his strength, he strained to thank Momota along with a soothing glance back, smiling tenderly. Dislike or like didn't matter anymore. He'd never liked Momota but it was the end now, <strike>so whatever</strike>.

Kokichi collapsed onto the cold press. He wasn't able to suppress the chill going up his spine, repelling him from the area physically. His whole body mildly jolted but soon he adjusted to it. Death was awaiting him on such a plain and unsightly ground. The Ultimate Supreme Leader really was going to disappear without redeeming himself? **Crushed**. Crushed entirely. It was a fitting end, though. A leader wasn't supposed to kill. A leader was supposed to bring peace and comfort. He went against his own principles and his personal ideals. With simple tricks like lying!

He couldn't excuse himself from his own mistakes. Likewise, he couldn't dare to say it was the only way. There were countless other ways to stop this hellish game. Cooperation survives individual intelligence and strength. If everybody had gotten together to think of a way to fight the mastermind, they might have ended this without any further losses. But the mastermind was part of them. An interrogation to weed out the mastermind wouldn't have led to anything but disruption of their harmony as a class.

_Dead ends no matter what he would have done. Maybe he didn't care enough to really find an exit? Was it his fault for not trying enough?_

Ouma Kokichi, the Ultimate Supreme Leader, failed his talent. A talent as prestigious and as promising as this one didn't keep the despair and anguish away. He did a lot, didn't he? He tried his best, isn't that what counts? He violated his own rule – to not kill – for what? Excluding himself, two people's lives have been taken and one was on the line. Was it a leader's responsibility to sacrifice his people for the greater good? Probably not. This wasn't an honourable ideology. Regret and guilt wouldn't amend his wrongdoings even if they started dribbling into him, filling his mind with frustration.

He failed his plan. A destructive plan with good intentions doesn't help anyone in the end. It was just a way to calm down one's conscience. Intentions could only be known by the individual themself. Nobody would see the good in him. But as long as they had a scapegoat to blame, were his feelings actually important? Ignoring his feelings and desires for the others' survival was his source of satisfaction, not? Never has he seen himself as an honest man, so why now pretend like he actually cared about anything genuinely. He just urged for the pleasure of being needed, being the one controlling. Or was he just clutching at his wellbeing, because that's all he's ever known? Everybody has feelings, but there is no way of perceiving the feelings of anyone else other than oneself. So what are a dead man's feelings worth? Ultimately, they will be wiped out.

He lowered himself fully onto the terrain and looked up to be met with a grueling view. A metal block, seemingly colder than the ground he was lying on; facing him in a blunt and direct way. Rusty on the edges, massively dangerous. His instincts made dread and despair seep into his brain. His body was begging him to run. This was the last thing he'd see forever? His hands stopped shaking at a time where they'd normally shake the most intense. The fear has consumed him completely by now, more than any poison ever could. Wide-eyed he stared at the heavy chunk above him and as soon as it started moving so leisurely, almost reluctantly, he felt himself flinch frightfully. He froze? In complete panic he pushed for a wince but not even that escaped his strained lungs. 

_Seconds before his death._

His mind was racing. All these unfinished thoughts were about to put an end to. Fear_, _sorrow_, _guilt_, _remorse; every single negative emotion nagged at him. His tears had already dried but never has he felt an urge as severe as now to cry. It was building up inside of him, he was about to burst. But his whole body was numb. He was paralysed. He couldn't move anything nor breathe. Whether that was because of the sudden shock or poison was unclear to him.

There was so much to think through, so much to hope and redeem for. So much to explain. But there was no time. The only thing left to do was to embrace the bitter end. Freedom with a dull aftertaste. Freedom but at what cost? He had unfinished business, there was no time for _freedom_. Every thought he'd think of now was meaningless and in vain. Nobody would ever see him as what he was. His past action and future impact would be the last thing people would remember him as.

He was going to disappear. His thoughts, feelings, morals would disperse. Flooding the cursed hangar with his pure blood. How ironic. He absolutely didn't want to leave. He had never wanted to hurt anyone, he had never wanted to threaten anyone. His plan would be the last remaining thing of him. His hope, his atonement, his apology. In the hands of the man whom he opposed. A man whose beliefs were so vague, naive, dangerous and narrow-minded. But in the end they both just wanted happiness for people such as them. People forced into the same sickening game.

Not Momota, not Harukawa, not Saihara saw him. Nobody did. So why did he automatically smile? Why did his body respond to utter panic with a faked smile? He didn't have to process any complex thought to know it was probably the most crooked, eerie and contorted smile. An asymmetrical bending of the fragile and charming corners of his mouth, spouting so many kind and protective lies. Dying while lying, he could've chuckled at the predictability.

There was no use in thinking; it was over. Kokichi was happy to have met his classmates. No matter how much he portrayed himself as a villain, he just hoped he could reach them with his last assistance. The hollow void of death would be the same as the senseless nothingness before birth. Everybody knows that nothingness, so there's no use in being afraid of the same nothingness at the end of life. As he accepted the darkness engulfing him, his thoughts came to an end, his feelings vanished, and the woe stopped. Just like that, a life and its hopes and dreams were erased.

**Author's Note:**

> the whole time i was writing this i was listening to 4 morant on replay. luckily though, i still adore the song, but wow it sure does sound different after the 10th hour.


End file.
